Logs:Letting Go
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 6 June, 2015 |
| Who: Keysi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Keysi's taken to face her most frequent nightmare under hallucinogen effects. |
| Where: Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Dream-state |
| Mentions: R'hin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Disclaimer: Angst, violence, blood |
 |
>---< Hidden Secrets Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#1184R) >-----------------------< Inside, the mundaneness continues with clean floors and bare walls. Neither small nor large, the cavern is relatively warm with a hearth as is typical of many weyrs at High Reaches and a large rug that lies before it. Simply woven, the rug is made up of neatly patterned blocks of primary colors and adds a festivity to the otherwise somnolent weyr. All in all, it seems serviceable as living quarters with the exception of some variants in the coloring of the stone walls, a large panel-like rectangle a slightly darker shade of stone than the rest, and when the rug is shook out, underneath the glint of a tiny latch catches whatever light might be available. Dream intertwined with the log Down the Rabbit Hole There's a comfort to letting sleep win after a long day, when the hour is so late, when she'd been already fighting it for hours, only kept up by her troubled thoughts. Maybe that's what swept her away so fast. Maybe it was the warmth of the drink alone that eased her, even if her chest was tight, even if fear was more prominent than anything else. R'hin's was the last face she saw. How could she trust that man? Why did she trust him? Her hands are still warm from the tea cup as she considers that, her legs still warmed by the fire from her weyr's hearth. "Take the child!" Her eyes open- when had she closed them?- to find the weyr's ceiling gone replaced by a clear night's sky, the smooth stone floor by moist dirt and the underbrush of a forest towering around her, and the hearth replaced by a heavy wooden cart and its two yoked beasts snorting their steamy breaths into the chill of the night. The severe disorientation- or perhaps it was the tea itself- made nausea turn her stomach violently. Her hands reached for her face only to find that no petite cup warmed her fingers but the brilliant red of fresh blood. The dead man lay stretched out beside her, her dagger imbedded in his chest. Her father's voice rings out again over the blunt, smacking sound of fists and flesh. "I don't have the money!" He begs, pleads between wailing, "Take the child!" Keysi scrambles to her feet wordlessly as she's done every time this nightmare finds her, expecting the height of a ten turn old, but finding herself taller. Finding herself still dressed in riding leathers, though smeared with the gore of the dead made more dramatic by the dancing of torchlight. As she rises, a hand yanks the knife from the stilled chest with a steadiness she couldn't remember having in youth. The men- had there always only been four?- are encircled around her father taking turns kicking, punching, and not yet heeding his plea. Her mother, she could hear her screams from somewhere further away. Her pale eyes scan the circle, the dream-state making edges hazy, non-specific, and almost whimsical despite the horrors unfolding. There are more figures in the heavier shadows cast by the firelight against the trees. She didn't remember seeing them before. A bulky one-eyed man, ugly in face and nature, lurches out from his hiding spot to seize her, whether it was from her father surrendering her as payment or because he saw his companion go down, it really didn't matter. Before, she had run. In her nightmares, she always ran. And the sudden feeling of choice leadens her legs, nails her booted feet to the damp ground. Keysi can only stare at the man as his bumbling gait bares him down upon her with a frightening, unnatural speed. The sound of boots scuffing behind her indicate a second's approach. Her fingers tighten on the grip of the dagger, one of many blades that would follow nearly every turnday since as tokens of her mother's continued survival. "Take the runner and go far away, Keysi." Her mother's kind but hushed words had come only moments before the attack, too late for her to flee. It wasn't the first time they'd been caught on the roads, nor would it be the last. And Keysi had wanted to flee every time. She remembers. Between the choice of abandoning and protecting, her instinct grasped desperately for the former. It was the first time reflecting on that fact, and anger rips through her in realization of it. Anger at herself for not even wanting to try. How dare she let any of this happen. It doesn't matter to her, even now, that she was only a little girl. That it wasn't her fault. That she could only do so much. That she was so alone. So incredibly alone. NEVER. The booming voice isn't in her head as it should be, his commanding, terrifying baritone heard by all. The dark brown dragon whose blackened underbelly made him but a descending shadow in the darkness from above lands with unheeded momentum on the cart, splintering it into uselessness, the axels cracking like toothpicks, a wheel popped free to roll a few feet and topple onto its side. His feral roaring stops every being in their tracks, his teeth already bloodied. The man behind her was already dead. The man before her nearly ran himself onto her dagger's blade, her sudden reflex to his grab for her jacket not something he could have expected from a child. She couldn't hear his sputtering as his dead weight crumpled towards her and then down, though there was a weightlessness about it that continued to remind her of the dream-state, the hallucination. This didn't really happen. These two never died. She looks down to see their faces, but they're no longer there. "They will come again." Her voice sounds foreign from her lips, confusing. They will face us all. The words from Neianth's maw are curled into strangeness by draconic lips, but his confidence is as indomitable as always. Consciousness begins to reclaim, the forest starting to dissolve into blackness as if the sky above melts around her. It liquefies until nothing remains. The cart, the screams, the blood... gone. An indistinct, unfamiliar figure becomes apparent through the haze, a single man beside her as the visions of altered memories fade. Keysi swings reflexively, though she's too dizzy to match the punch with the distance at which R'hin sits. With slowly-clearing awareness comes immediate withdraw of her 'attack', though an apology is caught in her throat. It's more disbelief that he stayed than disbelief at what occurred, though both are fairly well matched. One of the plush toys that the other candidates had made for her during the cave-in lays at her side. How did- "R'hin.." She manages that much after he speaks, though his words are somewhat lost on her. Should she be thankful? It doesn't seem appropriate in the wake of being so shaken, and so she leaves it. Even Neianth doesn't feel the need to speak. He's just there. Powerfully and undoubtable there. And as Leiventh lands outside and R'hin departs, there's a part of her that wishes to call him back. But she doesn't. Instead, despite the disturbing images, despite the anger that still seethes in her chest and dries her throat, despite the realization of the foundation of the regret that makes her so damned protective of everyone around her, she finds herself smiling. Untimely and inappropriate, she's suddenly thankful she's alone. Even if not truly so. |
Comments
Edyis (23:21, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
Wow. It is amazing to finally see beneath some of the layers of Keysi's stoicism.
Alida (02:37, 8 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
Keysi....Alida would nod and offer one of her shark's smiles.
Leave A Comment